


Overseen

by scouringsandstone



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scouringsandstone/pseuds/scouringsandstone
Summary: The view from Cowley's office had rarely been so interesting.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 28
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

It was too hot.

Cowley's most recent office was a stuffy, cluttered room, with more filing cabinets than it could comfortably fit, and thick walls that trapped the heat. That was the trouble with Victorian buildings: the walls seemed to retain the warmth in the summer and the cold in the winter.

There wasn't even any relief to be found from the freestanding fan in the corner, which shifted the same hot air around until it was almost unbearable. 

Cowley stood, setting his pen and glasses down on the desk. He rolled up his sleeves as he crossed the room to push open the rickety sash window. The idea was to get some air flowing through the place, but in the scorching midday sun, there didn't seem to be so much as a breeze outside either. 

He surveyed the car park below, loosening his tie just enough to unfasten the top button of his shirt, and that was when he saw them: Bodie and Doyle perched on the low surrounding wall, sharing a can of pop. 

They sat huddled together in spite of the heat, taking it in turns to drink.

A habit left over from Bodie's army days, perhaps. Sharing a canteen with the rest of his unit. Still, lunchtime in the staff car park is hardly the same as being on a tour of duty, and there must surely have been more than one can of Coke available at the local newsagents...

Cowley looked on, careful to keep to the side of the window, out of their line of sight.

Bodie set the can down on the wall beside him and gestured to a brown paper bag to Doyle's left. Doyle picked it up and reached inside to retrieve a sandwich. He unwrapped it, took one triangular half, and held it out to Bodie, before snatching it back out of reach when Bodie made a grab for it. Taunting, teasing. 

Cowley frowned.

Their trademark playfulness. Some had insinuated that there might be more to it than just friendly banter. There had been rumours, ugly words spoken in hushed tones around the locker rooms and the cafeterias of CI5. Cowley had shut them down.

Bodie and Doyle were close - very close - but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It happened, in a job like this. If two men save one another's lives enough times then it is bound to. A bond forms; a loyalty. Better and more effective than any team-building exercise Cowley has ever been able to devise. 

If there _were_ more to it than friendship, then Cowley would only want to know so that he could keep a closer eye on the situation. He would never encourage or subscribe to the same vitriolic bigotry as the people circulating those rumours. 

Below, Bodie wrestled the sandwich from his partner's hand and took a bite, and Cowley wondered - not for the first time - whether he had been wrong to dismiss it as idle gossip. After all, the two of them _did_ practically live in one another's pockets... 

What happened next was certainly enough to give Cowley pause. 

Once Bodie had taken his bite, he passed the sandwich back to Doyle, who in turn took a bite of his own. 

There was a strange intimacy to it. Overly-familiar yet casual; as though this was second-nature to them. Not the way two soldiers would behave, but the way a married couple might. It certainly lent credence to the rumours.

They went on in the same fashion - passing the sandwich back and forth between them, taking bites alternately, until the wretched thing was gone, and Cowley couldn't stop the creeping sense that he was encroaching on something private. 

He wanted to step away from the window, but somehow he felt compelled to keep watching. 

Bodie reached across to swipe his thumb over Doyle's lower lip, brushing away some crumbs or margarine that Cowley wasn't able to see from his vantage point. He could see the fond smile on Bodie's face though, and the way Doyle didn't flinch or shy away from the other man's touch. 

It was affectionate. If Cowley hadn't known better, he might have called it _tender._

But did he know better? Really? 

What did he know about the nature of Bodie and Doyle's relationship? What would they tell him? 

Not the truth, that's for sure. With their respective backgrounds they would understand the importance of keeping those sort of inclinations a secret better than anyone. It may no longer be illegal but it remained dangerous. Any villain who got hold of information like that could easily use it against them. 

_The strong man is strongest when alone._ And the man who loves has exposed a weakness.

In the car park, the pair of them tucked into the second half of their sandwich, oblivious, sharing it the same way they did the first, leaning in close and chatting. Cowley moved away from the window to sit back down at his desk, pouring himself a finger of single malt on the way. 

What they got up to on their own time was nobody else's business; Cowley would make sure of that. Nonetheless, it was _his_ business now. They had _made_ it his business by being so damned unsubtle. Just like them to make his life more difficult...

Cowley pressed the button on the intercom. 

"Betty," he began, "when Bodie and Doyle come back from their lunch, send them in, would you?"


	2. Chapter 2

"You wanted to see us, sir?"

Cowley watched as the pair of them crossed the room and settled into the chairs in front of his desk, side-by-side. Even in the heat of his office, they sat so close that their elbows touched. 

Cowley reached across to refill his glass of scotch.

"How long has it been since I made you a team?" he asked. 

It was Bodie who spoke up first. "Must be getting on for five years now..."

"Yeah," said Doyle. "Seventy-six, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

Cowley took a sip, regarding the pair of them over the rim of his glasses. "And how would you say it's going?"

Bodie frowned. "How's what going?"

"The team. The partnership."

"It's a bit early for our annual reviews, isn't it?" Doyle asked.

"This isn't your review."

"Then what is it?" Doyle was watching him, wary. He was right to be. Under any other circumstances, Cowley might encourage Doyle's caution, but not today.

"Oh," said Cowley, "just some questions."

This time it was Doyle's turn to frown. "Questions?"

"Yes, questions. I can ask questions, do appraisals, or make assessments of any one of my men at any time I choose. And you'd know that if you'd ever bothered to read your contracts. It's all there in th-"

"The small print," Bodie interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose and suppressing a smile. "Yeah, we know."

"Good. Then if you know, humour me and answer them. The partnership, how is it going?"

Bodie shrugged. "It's going all right."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed. "It's fine."

The bloody Music Hall act again, only this time it was being used to deflect. 

"Is that the best you can do?" Cowley asked. " _Fine?_ "

" _Well,_ " Bodie amended. "We get along well."

Cowley took another sip of his whiskey. "You didn't at first..."

"No... But we do now."

"We'd have put in for a transfer by now if we didn't, wouldn't we?"

The pair of them smiled in unison. Synchronised and oddly Vaudevillian, although Cowley knew that this little routine couldn't have been rehearsed. 

"And you don't irritate each other so much these days?" he asked. 

"You must be joking," said Doyle. "He irritates me every minute of every day."

"Oh, cheers mate," Bodie muttered. "Feeling's mutual."

"But no hostility?"

"Why?" asked Bodie. "McCabe reported us for fighting in the canteen again?" 

"If you've been causing trouble in the canteen, it's news to me."

"No hostility," said Doyle. "We just get up each other's noses sometimes, that's all."

"Yet you seem to spend most of your time together outside work," Cowley said. Not a question, more an observation. "You even go on holiday together. The last two times you've submitted your requests for annual leave, it's been for the same dates." 

"Yeah," said Doyle. "He likes to drag me fishing."

Bodie nudged Doyle's arm. "You love it, my son. Being out in the open air, chasing after barmaids in those country pubs..."

Cowley raised an eyebrow. "Is that what the two of you get up to?"

"Sometimes," said Bodie. "Why?"

"Because it occurs to me, Bodie, that it could be interpreted very differently - that kind of behaviour - if no barmaids were involved."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" said Doyle, a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. 

"Just what I said." Cowley met his gaze and held it; steady, unwavering. "Two men, living in one another's pockets, working together, going on holiday together. People could draw... certain conclusions."

Clearly incensed, Doyle opened his mouth to argue, but Bodie silenced him with a look. "Yeah, well, there are barmaids involved, aren't there?"

"I'll have to take your word for it," said Cowley. At least he finally seemed to be getting somewhere. 

"Well, you can take my word for it too," Doyle snapped. 

As usual, Bodie played the diplomat. "C'mon, sir, what's all this in aid of? Has someone said something?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, why else would you be asking all these questions?"

Cowley drained the rest of his glass and set it down on the desk.

"People talk," he said slowly. "There have been rumours about the nature of your relationship circulating CI5 for longer than I care to remember, but I never put too much stock in them. That is, not until today..."

"What happened today?"

"Today I saw the two of you, eating lunch together outside my office..."

Doyle scoffed. "And?"

"And I've revised my opinion." Cowley watched them, watched the tension in Doyle's shoulders, and the set of Bodie's jaw. "I've never seen anyone eat a sandwich in quite that manner before."

A brief look of realisation washed over their faces, before Doyle piped up: "Doesn't prove anything-" 

"No. It doesn't. And I can't confirm my suspicions now. Oh, I daresay I could've, if I'd really wanted to... Planted bugs in your flats, or set up surveillance before I brought you in here. But I've no interest in spying on you. I'm not even going to ask you outright - you'd only deny it, and anyway, what you get up to behind closed doors is your own business. Just make sure you aren't so careless in future, because God knows, I don't want to have to make it mine. Are we clear?"

Bodie sat, stoic, eyes fixed on the worn floorboards in front of him. He gave a slight nod and said, "Can we go now, sir?"

"Aye."

All the fight seemed to have gone out of Doyle, too, because he rose from his chair and followed Bodie over to the door without protest.

"Oh, and Bodie, Doyle?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Pack separate lunches from now on." 


End file.
